Kingdom Hearts Tarot Project
by Neffectual
Summary: The seventy-eight cards of a standard tarot deck, with card meanings and nuances expressed through short Kingdom Hearts pieces, mostly focusing on Organization XIII. Canonical, with spoilers up to and including Dream Drop Distance  for the last cards .
1. The Fool

**0 – The Fool – Space**  
><em>It is the nature of things that space desires to be filled.<em>

He stands on the cliff top and presses the water a little harder to erode around the base, wishing the damned thing would simply crumble and vanish, falling into the sea and letting the water drag him down. He closes his eyes and thinks about taking that final step off the edge, no care for where he goes, and then steps backwards, before opening his eyes. The body he has bumped into is small, slight, slender, and he smiles before he can stop himself.  
>"I've told you about that."<br>"I know." Demyx smoothes the smile out into a neutral expression before he turns to face Zexion, the reflection of the waves still holding on in his eyes. He can't smile with his mouth, that much is forbidden him, but even the illusionist can not cloak the smile that bubbles up in his eyes.

"You've been working your magic again." The blond says, eyes sparkling with delight at the clones behind his lover, and vaguely summons a few water clones to mirror their standing. Zexion's illusions remain standing firm, but the water clones have no such compulsion, and go to their counterparts, each column of water draped over a clone, and every single one smiling.  
>"I've said –"<br>"And the day my magic does what you want is the day Xemnas shows up in my bed, covered in tar and feathers, and wearing a kitty collar," the blond says, sharply, then softens the sting with a kiss echoed by the doubles surrounding them, "I don't make them smile any more than you make yours copy that constipated expression you so favour."

There's an embarrassed pause.  
>"How long –"<br>"It took six months for them to even have faces."  
>Demyx smothers a laugh, watching Zexion's face go from angry to indulgent,<br>and knows that, for now, it's okay to smile.  
>"So…."<br>Demyx turns his head from where it's cradled on Zexion's shoulder, moving his mouth away from that creamy expanse of neck to raise an eyebrow.  
>"Don't you ever think they're wrong?"<br>The blond shakes his head, no, and says nothing more.  
>"But it must be – we can't… you can't…."<br>There is no answer but Demyx burying his head in closer, nipping at the column of Zexion's throat and doing everything in his power to stop his lover speaking further.  
>"I said –"<br>"And I distinctly remember saying that I wasn't going to have this discussion with you again."

There's a crash which makes Zexion jump, and he turns to see his own illusions alone, the only thing left of the water clones a dark splash on the grass, already drying out in the sun. He turns back, and watches Demyx's back move away, another crash following as the waves strike the cliff, hard. The blond takes out a cloth, tying it around his face as he walks towards the cliff edge, and everything drops into slow motion, but Zexion still can't get there fast enough, can't get his clones to move fast enough to grab Demyx before he steps out into thin air.  
>And walks.<p>

When Zexion gets to the edge, he sees the column of water supporting his blindfolded lover, sees how secure Demyx's footing is, how safe and serene and comfortable he looks, perched atop a wave. He looks fey, pixie-like, and like all of the little folk, he has played a great trick. Zexion doesn't know whether it's happiness, relief, or a little of both, but he throws his head back, and for the first time since he became a Nobody, perhaps for the first time ever, everyone knows his childhood wasn't exactly happy, he laughs. He laughs, and laughs, until he lies prone on the grass, tears pouring down his cheeks, and looks up to meet Demyx's eyes, rich with an emotion that shouldn't be there, no longer feeling empty.

For the first time, Zexion understands what it is to be alive.


	2. The Sorcerer

**1 – The Sorcerer – Will**  
><em>Will and equilibrium are the basis of every action.<em>

"If I could, I would give you the illusion of feeling – no, first I would give it to myself, so I could make sure it wouldn't hurt."  
>"You give me no illusions. You never have."<br>"Everything we are is a lie."  
>They are stretched out on the bed, neither touching the other, and it is the first time that Zexion has ever seen that frown worry at the edges of Demyx's mouth, first time he has ever seen him bite his lip in confusion and refuse to meet his eyes. They both stare at the ceiling for a minute, before Zexion brings himself to speak again.<br>"You don't think that we're nothing but bodies?"  
>"No one is only a body. We take actions that aren't sociopathic; we must have some sort of emotional connection. Otherwise we'd just be mindless killers."<br>"Heartless, yes, mindless, no?"  
>Demyx turns then, his smile bitter and dark.<br>"Do you want me to prove it?"

Zexion gets a sudden flash of what Demyx might have dealt with before Xemnas finally decided he was acceptable to join the rest of them – after Axel had spent eight weeks stalking back into the castle, dripping wet and snarling something about the guy having a sense of humour. He forgets, sometimes, that Demyx has been a killer, too, that Demyx knows what it's like to sink yourself, your power, into the meat of a man, and not be sure if you retrieved all of it untainted, or, indeed, all of it at all. There's something terribly wrong about battling with bodies other than yours, in Zexion's mind, something déclassé and dishonourable about not being man enough to get your hands dirty with the rest of the boys. But all of them know what it is to part flesh beneath your hands and to spend the rest of your existence pretending the colour hasn't stained.

"I don't understand how you all do it." Demyx whispers, late at night, and it takes everything Zexion has not to pin him to his body and never let him go, "I don't know how you cope."  
>By ignoring, Zexion doesn't say, by refusing to think about what we do every day, refusing to think of anything but the future happiness we'll someday remember how to feel, by forgetting that we're no better than the things we kill.<br>Instead, he kisses the blonde's forehead, and closes his eyes against the earnestness in those true blue eyes. He doesn't dare say a word, but it's alright. Demyx can always read him, like a children's book with too many pictures.

"Can't you do something?" Demyx asks, at last, watching the red sluice down the drain, creating a tiny play or red figures falling under the hands of blue, before he seems to realise what he's doing, and they all vanish, "You used to be important."  
>That stings, more than Zexion would dare mention, but it's true enough, he supposes, head down and catching his breath, ignoring the wound at his shoulder. He is no longer important to Xemnas, no longer part of the day-to-day running of things, and partially, it is the time he has spent with Demyx which has done this. But soon, soon he'll be important again, and he'll spare Demyx, out of all of them, spare him to keep his innocence safe, because that's all that's precious, now.<br>"I know what you're thinking." The blond says, smiling now, although his eyes are cold, "And it won't work."  
>"What are you," Zexion asks, dropping to his knees, "a Seer now?"<p>

The conversation colours all their interactions now, tainted with something which could be resentment or could be anger, but neither of them knows, because they don't dare to ask. Demyx still doesn't involve himself in the battles, but there's a longing, now, which says that he wants to, and Zexion can't watch the hollowness overtake something which used to be full of life, but he can't fight the desensitisation himself, either. They don't meet each others' eyes anymore, never turning back to spend more time, or pass idle conversation as they would have before. It's like they've forgotten how.

The divide is culminated when Demyx rounds a corner to see Zexion lounging in the spread of Marluxia's arms, laughing in agreement with something the pink-haired man is saying, and Demyx slips quietly out of sight. They are both shoring up their defences now, for the battle they can taste, even if it isn't yet looming on the horizon. The spark between them will turn to flame, and there is nothing which can save them.


	3. The Priest

**2 – The Priest – Spirituality**  
><em>The spirit is a garden to be cultivated with love.<em>

Lying in the earth, cheek pressed to it, hearing all the things that the ground can whisper as the man above presses close, searching for something which Marluxia finds only in that which grows, he knows that happiness is attainable, when ones pays attention to one's surroundings. The sultry comments of the world below ground is nothing short of wondrous, the plant tendrils moving, twisting, telling him of the dark secrets that live below earth, as Luxord takes his pleasure. Soon, they whisper, soon, all this will be yours.

In truth, it doesn't matter who's above him, it's someone different every other day. He fills himself with seed as he fills the ground with promise, he is that promise made flesh, and though he joins the land-walkers, his roots are deep, and drain all the goodness from the soil, making him stronger and braver with every passing day. The seeds whisper to him of rebellion, the petals of ownership, the leaves of dominion. He knows they would benefit from his triumph, too, but if he fails, they will simply use his body to prosper for the coming winter. They're pragmatic, the plants, and he's pragmatic with them, caught it off them as if his veins run with sap and the sun gives him life.

They don't see it as surrender, to be the vessel, because to them, whoever does the most work is the loser, and as he lies still, muttering to the roots that uncoil metres below the surface, he is expending little energy, saving it for winter, when he will need to burrow away for winter.

It's hard, sometimes, not to get wrapped up in the vines and tendrils which talk to him, hard to walk back into the stone tomb that they call a castle and remind himself that he's a man, not a plant, and that the stone has no power over him. Soon, nothing and no man shall hold power over him. He gathers those interested around him, like the wind moves dead leaves, and knows that he is strong enough to win.

With Zexion in the fold, there's nothing he can't do now, no secrets unknown to him. And so what if the smile drops off Demyx's face, so what if Zexion never visits him in the arbour at night, never takes walks in the rose garden. He doesn't need sexual subservience to feel superior, to know he owns the man – he's not like Xemnas. He doesn't need to fuck anyone to let them know they have no escape. He's dangerous enough, and his eyes hold enough of a threat, that no one would ever think of betraying him.

Shame the tactic hasn't worked, though. Zexion was supposed bring Demyx in, and instead, the two have split – that was surely the point of the couples, that they dragged in another member of the rebellion for free. Still, he reminds himself, there is always tomorrow, there is always another day, and soon, soon, Axel will join them, bringing the ultimate pawn with him. Axel has no qualms about visiting the arbour, about taking his pleasure where he wants, rather than keeping strictly to his lover. So there's no doubt about it, Marluxia thinks, sighing as Luxord finishes and ambles away into the hedge maze, soon, Axel will bring him the key to tear down Xemnas.


End file.
